


Break

by Saber_Wing



Series: New Beginnings [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action, Angst, Drama, Family, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Maxwell no Maxwell yes, Poor Toby might actually give himself an aneurysm, References to Depression, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 04:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17501990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing
Summary: Entirely too late, Max remembered a pissed-off bandit screaming, 'take out that archer.'Max was 'that archer.'Oh, shit.





	Break

Maxwell Trevelyan crouched on a cliff overlooking the battlefield. He nocked an arrow, targeting an archer across the clearing. It struck true, toppling the man from his perch on the rocks.

Without pausing for a reprieve, he snatched another projectile from the quiver on his back. One of the bandit warriors was going toe-to-toe with Dorian, and gaining ground fast. Max looked for an opening, finding it under the warrior's arm.

The bandit howled as the arrow struck a gap between the plates of his armor, cursing. “Maker's balls, take out that archer!” he snarled, snapping off the shaft with a grimace. “What am I sharing loot with you idiots for?”

Dorian managed to sidle away, recognizing a losing battle when he saw one. That was, apparently, enough for his assailant to decide he wasn't worth the trouble, because he chose another target for his great-ax...

...Tobias's unprotected back.

Max's stomach dropped. “Toby, behind you!”

His brother startled, but he was too slow. He wouldn't be able to adequately block in time. And – judging from Tobias's grim expression – Max wasn't the only one who knew it.

He had seconds to act.

There was no time. Max picked the first weakness he spotted and ran with it – an area of exposed thigh just above the warrior's greaves. He held his breath. And – though it had been years since he'd had much faith in the Maker – prayed like hell.

Whether through divine intervention or sheer dumb luck, the arrow hit his target. The fighter stumbled, and his attack went wide. Max heaved a sigh as he nocked another arrow, knees weak with relief. Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him. He spun around just in time to see two bandits – a rogue and a warrior, climb up the cliff-side.

Entirely too late, Max remembered a pissed-off bandit screaming, _'take out that archer.'_

Max was _'that archer.'_

_Oh, shit._

He managed to fire another shot as his assailants rushed him, but his aim was off. It struck the warrior in the shoulder, but missed his intended mark by inches _._

Great.

“Max!” His brother's voice – strained, panicked. The archer hazarded a glance over his shoulder – Tobias had his hands full, though clearly, he'd noticed his younger brother's predicament.

“I've got it!” Max screamed, hoping the words weren't a lie. He ducked under the rogue's daggers, sweeping his legs out from under him.

The warrior who'd attacked Max – having finally recovered his senses – charged, blood spewing from the arrow in his shoulder. He cornered the archer, grabbing and dangling him high above the ground by his throat. The dagger clattered from his hand, skittering away harmlessly.

The massive hand around his throat tightened.

Max choked, clawing at the bandit's thick fingers with frantic desperation. Black spots danced across his vision.

A fireball slammed into the warrior's head, and he dropped Max like a sack of potatoes, howling. The archer dragged in a gasping breath, rolling to his feet. He clutched at his throat and coughed, struggling to catch his breath.

“Max, hold on!” Tobias, raw with anguish. “ _Bull?!_ I-I can't get to him! _”_

What little breath Max had managed to gain back left him in a rush. For the first time in recent memory – maybe _ever –_ Toby sounded completely unhinged. Uncontrolled. Afraid. The emotions exploding from his brother's lips sounded foreign, and the thought of him being so scared left Max comparatively terrified.

And _oh_ , that little _quaver_ in his voice...

Iron Bull answered, somewhat closer. “I'm on it!”

Somehow, Max managed to evade the rogue's daggers a second time, pivoting smoothly on his heel. It threw the bandit off-balance, giving Max the opening he needed to slip behind him, and grab him by the hair. He snatched up a dagger from the ground and buried it in his throat. The rogue went down, spraying blood in an arc upon the ground.

The warrior used his companion's death as a distraction, striking Max with his shield. It slammed into his face, flaying the flesh of his cheek wide open. Blinded by pain, the archer managed to snatch up his bow in time to block another attack – the warrior's sword cleaved it in half, but it _did_ change the blade's trajectory. It ended up embedded in the dirt, rather than Max's sternum.

The warrior snarled.

Max was running out of options. Panicked, he tried to snatch one of the rogue's discarded daggers, but the warrior intercepted him. He grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back at an awkward angle.

Max felt it the moment the bone cracked, barely managing to bite back a scream.

He must have made some sort of wounded noise anyway, because there was an anguished cry from the battlefield. Fortunately for everyone, Iron Bull chose that moment to swoop in for a rescue. He cleared the edge of the cliff in one jump, cleaving the bandit's head off in one smooth motion. Poor sod never saw it coming.

The archer collapsed heavily into the dirt, heaving a shaky breath. He spat a mouthful of blood, gazing dazedly down at the puddle it left. Was that a _tooth?_

Max gingerly prodded the back of his mouth with his tongue. Yup. That was definitely a hole, where a tooth should be.

Dorian and Tobias were finishing off the last few bandits – they were holding their own well enough that Bull had elected to make his way over to Max instead.

“You okay, boss?” Iron Bull regarded him kindly with his remaining eye, pulling Max to his feet.

“More or less.” Max grimaced, cradling his wounded arm against his chest. “Thanks for the save.”

“Don't mention it. Nice moves, by the way."

“You think? It felt like all I did was get my ass kicked.”

Bull laughed. “Well, yeah, but it's just good that you're trying.”

Max grinned, if a bit drunkenly. “Leliana's been helping me in her spare time – did you know she's a master archer? Oh. Ben-Hassrath, of course you do.” The archer made a dismissive gesture, before remembering that would jostle his injured arm, and he grimaced, hissing.

More footsteps sounded on the cliff-face. Tobias scrambled up ahead of Dorian, clattering toward them as fast as his armored legs would carry him. Suddenly, there were hands roaming over Max – over his face, his jaw.

Then Tobias took hold of his injured arm, and Max's vision went white.

“A-Ah, ouch. Toby...”

“Shh, be still. Let me see.” Tobias tilted his chin up gently, examining what was likely going to be an impressive scar, extending from the side of his face, down his cheekbone. Max could feel the blood, dripping hot from his chin. And the stench, metallic and pungent. He hated that smell. “Sweet Andraste, that will scar for certain.”

“At least it won't stand out.” Max giggled, delirious. His split cheek protested the movement. “Now I've got one on each side.”

Tobias gave him a look – sharp, admonishing. His eyes were wild, glistening in the mid-day sun. “I find very little amusement in this, Maxwell. You could have been _killed.”_ His voice trembled around the words. “What in Andraste's name were you thinking?”

Max blinked. “What was _I_ thinking? What do you mean? We came upon bandits, they started a fight. Then they targeted the annoying archer with the projectile pieces of metal. It was inevitable – I fail to see how their actions are _my_ fault.”

“They caught you unawares, you should have been more mindful! Particularly when the brute with the giant ax ordered his compatriots to _'take out that archer'!_ What part of that was unclear? _”_

Max scowled. “I was a little busy saving your ass!”

“I don't particularly care what happens to me! You're the Herald of Andraste – you can't put _me_ first.”

“Well, _you_ can't honestly expect me to stand by and let a man the size of a small building slice you in half, you bloody hypocrite!” Max blew a breath between his teeth, hissing when he realized what a terrible idea that was. It stung the gaping hole at the back of his mouth.

That pain paled in comparison, however, to the agony that ripped through him when Toby's grip on his arm tightened. His brother remained fixated on his cheek – on the bruises forming around his throat. He didn't seem to notice Max's distress, or the telling way he clutched his arm.

Iron Bull _definitely_ had. The qunari looked ready to step in. His eye drilled into Max, questioning.

“Hate to interrupt this heart-to-heart, gentleman,” Dorian quipped, picking a piece of gore from his mustache with a disgusted grimace. “But might I suggest having this conversation elsewhere? All that noise is going to draw attention, and I'd really rather not get into another fight just now.”

“We should get back to camp.” Max ground between his teeth. “I'm a liability like this.”

“We need to get you a new bow anyway. Maybe have that arm looked at,” Iron Bull replied, casually. Deliberately.

Tobias blinked. He glanced down, paling when he finally noticed the way Max cradled the injured appendage. “Oh. Oh, Maker's mercy, forgive me. What can I do?”

“You could stop yelling at me, for starters. And please, _please_ let go. That _hurts_.” Max groaned, voice drawn with agony. With a detached sort of shame, he realized he'd all but _whined_ out the words.

“Shit.” Tobias dropped his arm so fast, it looked as if he'd been burned. “I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry, dear heart. Let's get you out of here. Iron Bull, my good man. Move to his other side, if you'd be so kind?”

If Max hadn't been in so much pain, he might have felt bad about how thoroughly miserable Toby looked. Also, he would have taken a moment to marvel at the fact that his brother even _knew_ expletives, never mind using them in actual sentences. What _would_ the nobles back in Ostwick say?

Iron Bull rested a hand on Max's shoulder – the good one. “Let's go get you cleaned up, boss.”

Max nodded minutely. Nausea churned hot in his gut, cold sweat breaking out on his brow. He clenched his lips tightly together, allowing the two warriors to sandwich him between them. Dorian took the lead, scouting ahead for potential enemies.

His brother's aggressive worrying was the least of his problems. Max squeezed his eyes shut, counting breaths evenly through his nose. Despite his best efforts, however, not much time had passed before he knew it was inevitable.

Max thought of the wound splitting his cheek, dreading what vomiting would do to it. Still, he didn't have much of a choice. His stomach lurched.

Max raised a palm, halting their advance. He broke from Toby's grip and dropped to his knees in one smooth motion, barely managing to get out of range before ejecting the contents of his stomach. He braced himself with his good arm, though it was so shaky, he barely managed to avoid flopping into his own vomit.

Shadows fell over Max, blocking out the sun – vaguely, he realized Bull had shifted in front of him, protecting him from view.

Someone crouched beside him. When he finally managed to open his eyes, the sight that greeted him made him cringe. Max hadn't entirely managed to avoid hitting Tobias. His brother's greaves were splattered with blood-red vomit.

Or was it just _blood?_ Hard to say.

“Sorry. I-I'm sorry.”

“Don't be daft. You've done nothing wrong.” Tobias pushed the sweaty hair back from his forehead. His hands were gentle, though his eyes were hard. “ _I_ am the one who allowed this to happen.”

“Huh?” Maxwell blinked dazedly. “What do you mean? You didn't do anything.”

Tobias released a bitter chuckle. “That's just the trouble, isn't it?”

His brother's words were about five-thousand different shades of wrong, but the pain made it hard for Max to focus. His arm throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and the entire right side of his face felt every inch like the open wound it was. When he finally managed to focus his attention back on Tobias, his brother had adopted a bland expression – one Max recognized as a mask he used at court.

“I've said too much. Never mind. Come, we're nearly there.”

The remainder of their journey back to camp passed in a haze. Max kept pace as best he could, moving mechanically along with the others. He didn't have much concept of time and its passage, but it seemed to jump rather erratically. When Max stumbled his way back to awareness, he was startled to find himself seated on a cot in an Inquisition tent, without a clue as to how he'd come to be there.

“...my Lord Herald?” One of the medics – a kindly old man with a heart-shaped face, was trying to ask him a question. And, judging from the worry on Tobias' face, and the amusement on Bull's, this likely wasn't the first time.

Max blinked haltingly. He turned his attention – what was left of it, anyway – toward the medic, feeling as if he were moving in slow motion. “Hmm?”

“Your companions told me what happened. Are you hurt anywhere other than your face, your throat, and your arm?”

Max frowned. “I don't think so.” He mulled it over, giving a drunken shake of his head. “Lost a tooth, though. There's a _hole_ in my mouth.”

“And how is the pain? Scale of one to ten, ten being the highest.”

Oh. That was an easy one. “Twenty.”

Iron Bull laughed. Dorian frowned so deeply, his eyebrows formed a solid line, and Tobias honestly looked like he might be sick.

The medic patted his shoulder – the good one. Max appreciated that. “I've got a little something that might help.”

 _Yes, please._ Max liked this medic. What a nice man.

He must have said the last part out loud, because the medic laughed good-naturedly. Max was so content to hear that it would stop hurting soon, he sort-of quit listening to everything else. Eventually, someone helped him drink the worst-tasting concoction he'd ever had, and before he knew it, he was sliding down the cot, boneless.

Despite whatever herbs were in the pain-relief tincture, Max slept fitfully. The pain was present enough that jostling his wounds tore him from sleep. He'd groan, try to roll over. Sometimes, someone would run their fingers through his hair, or they'd take his hand, and he liked those times. It almost made the discomfort worth it. Max didn't awaken in truth until – some indeterminate amount of time later – the sound of murmured voices roused him.

A deep, gravelly voice Max recognized as Bull's filtered across the tent. “It wasn't your fault. Shit happens.”

Tobias sighed deeply. “You're kind to say so.”

“You don't believe me though.”

A bitter chuckle. “Oh, certainly not.” The words were filled with so much self-loathing, it made Max wince. He reluctantly cracked an eye open, grimacing when the candlelight forced him to squint.

Iron Bull regarded Tobias solemnly. “He's gonna get hurt again. Doesn't matter how many bodies he's got to throw themselves in front of him. Eventually, something has to get through.”

“Yes, but this level of insanity can't be normal.” Tobias threaded his fingers through his hair. “Every time my back is turned, he's tangling with bandits, demons...holes in the sky. Venatori mages who throw him into potentially deadly time-loops.” His voice grew hard. “This can't keep happening. I won't allow it. I won't just take all of this rubbish at face-value and watch him leap into the fire, time and time again.”

Iron Bull's reply was kind, if blunt. “Hate to break it to you, but you don't have a choice. As long as there are rifts, he's gonna be out there closing them. And you know, this whole...repentance thing you're doing. It's a little overkill. Whatever happened between you two, he doesn't hold it against you.”

If Tobias was surprised by how much Iron Bull seemed to know, he hid it well.

“Of course he doesn't.” Tobias released a humorless chuckle. “He was always the best of us.” His voice was strained, thick with frustration. “Why does he have to be so...”

“Forgiving?” If Bull hadn't sounded amused before, he _definitely_ did now.

Tobias sighed. “Yes. Sometimes I think it'd be easier if he hated me. He'd certainly have cause.”

Max groaned aloud. “Andraste's fucking _tits._ How are you _still_ going on about that?”

Both men froze, turning their attention to Max. The qunari eyed him knowingly – he'd probably noticed the instant Max awoke by some act of magic, or Ben-Hassrath bullshit, but Tobias blanched, looking thoroughly abashed.

“I'm so sorry, dear heart. Did we wake you?”

“Yes,” Max murmured. He managed to wrestle his good arm out from under the covers and beckon to Toby. “And you're an idiot. Come here.”

Tobias blinked, paling considerably. “How...much of that did you hear?”

“All of it. Come _here._ Come sit with me. _”_ Max patted the mattress, scooting backward as best he could.

The smell of elfroot permeated his nostrils: his arm was bound and had been placed in a sling, and his cheek was slathered in what felt like five pounds of ointment and gauze. Whatever the medic had given him for pain was wearing off. Max ached, and his head felt fuzzy, but there was still a definite lack of absolute agony to contend with. He liked that.

What he _didn't_ like was hearing Toby disparage himself, day after day.

“You heard the man. I'm gonna go see what they're making for dinner,” Iron Bull quipped, throwing Max a wink as he left. How _did_ someone wink with one eye, anyway?

Tobias blinked, but eventually, did as he was bid. He rose from his chair and approached the bed, perching carefully on the edge of the mattress.

“How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?” Tobias fussed with the gauze on his cheek, inspecting it with a critical eye. “I don't think we have to change these yet.”

“Toby...”

“Are you hungry? Thirsty, perhaps? It's a bit of a chilly night, I can grab more blankets if you're cold.”

Max groaned. “Toby, stop. Just...stop.”

“I'm sorry.”

The archer scowled. “And _stop that._ Stop apologizing.”

“I...I don't think I quite understand, dear heart. What would you _like_ me to do?”

“I'd _like_ you to stop throwing yourself on your sword. And I do mean that literally, and figuratively.” A careful balance of herbs and pain had loosened Max's tongue – whatever inhibitions he'd previously had about speaking plainly were long gone. That, and Varric was a bad influence. All that 'talk about your feelings' encouragement from the dwarf was starting to rub off.

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean.” That blandish mask – the one that betrayed nothing – was back on Toby's face again. Though they were no longer in the Free Marches, his brother still hid behind it whenever he wanted to feel safe.

Max was far too tired and sore to put up with it tonight.

“Bullshit. If I wanted non-answers, I'd go back to Ostwick. Here, now, I want _real_ ones. Why are you doing this?”

Toby avoided his eyes, picking at the bed-sheets in a telling show of anxiety. “You know full well why.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

His brother squared his shoulders. “The 'why' doesn't matter. Only the end result. I will find a way to make amends, Maxwell. I don't care if it kills me.”

“I _do! Damn it,_ Toby!” Max shouted, though his throat felt raw. “I've put the past behind me, where it belongs. That doesn't erase anything that happened between us, but I'm all right with that.”

“I'm not!”

Max scoffed. “Clearly.”

“What would you have of me then, hmm?” Tobias surged to his feet, clasping his arms behind his back. He paced a line in front of the bed. “Should I simply forget all the injustices you've suffered?”

“You always did before.” Max paused, wincing. “That came out wrong. Look. I won't pretend our family's general lack of caring about _anything_ doesn't take a toll. But if I spent all my time dwelling on how much they've hurt me-”

“ _I_ hurt you!” Tobias whirled on him. Max jerked back, startled by the fire in his tone. “I'm _still_ hurting you! I can't even stop a man from choking the life out of you, a kilometer away! I'm just as useless to you now as I was back home.”

“I'm a big boy, Tobias. If I get hurt, that's on me, and the people attacking me. No one else.”

“How can you be so flippant about this? You're the Herald of Andraste!”

“Stop hiding behind that _fucking_ title!” Max gritted his teeth. “If that's all I am to you, why are you even here?”

Tobias roared his frustration. “Fine! I don't _care_ about the, ' _Herald of Andraste.'_ You, however, are my brother!” When he turned his eyes on Max, they were wild, suspiciously bright in the candlelight. “That didn't matter back home. I couldn't _let_ it matter, people were watching. Maker forbid I be seen showing my little brother the barest hint of affection. What would people think?”

Tobias collapsed into a chair. “I willfully ignored you. I watched others ridicule you. I allowed our eldest brother to disparage you, not because I agreed with him, but because it was _easier._ How can you simply _forgive_ me for that? I was a coward. A fraud, who loved you only when it was easy for me! Then I showed up at Haven spewing cutesy pet-names and apologies, and that's just... _enough?”_

“Yeah. Why shouldn't it be?”

Tobias looked at Max askance, stunned.

Max sighed, struggling to push himself into a sitting position. “Okay. I know what you're thinking. And no, nothing is going to change what happened. I spent years in crowded rooms, feeling completely alone, and I hated you for it. I hated you _all_ for it.”

“Then I don't understand.” Toby's brow furrowed. “Why-”

“Let me finish. There's a point to this monologue, I promise.”

Tobias snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. “I'm sorry. Continue.”

Max nodded his thanks, taking a shaky breath. “I was still a Trevelyan. I had the same silver tongue, guiding me through that nest of vipers we called home. But behind closed doors, I was _nothing_ like you. Like any of you. Mother and father never even tried to understand why I felt things so much more deeply than they did. They tried to condition it out of me instead, but when that didn't work, they just...gave up. And honestly? So did I. They made me feel like a monster. Like there was something _wrong_ with me, and I hated my life. Some days, I wished it would end.”

“You wished it would...?” Tobias paused. His voice grew very quiet. “You don't mean...”

_Uh-oh._

Tobias was staring _–_ regarding him with wide-eyed horror. He covered his mouth with his hand, visibly shaken. “I didn't know you felt so terrible you might...” He cut himself off, as if he couldn't quite bear to finish the sentence. “Maker's breath. I didn't know. I _swear_ , I didn't know. If I had...”

“I know.” Max shook his head. “I obviously never acted on it. I don't think I would have. I just...wanted to be as invisible as I felt. Disappear for a while.”

Tobias didn't appear consoled by the words. On the contrary, he looked ill.

“Anyway, the point: yes, you hurt me. But it wasn't _all_ bad. There were bright spots. Remember that time you slipped me out of Aunt Solange's evening ball early, so I could spend the whole night out in the stables, with the horses and the cats? And a particularly strong bottle of gin?”

Tobias's lips twitched. “Father still thinks I sent you off to polish my armor for that exhibition match the next day.”

“Or that time for...what was it, my sixteenth birthday? Mother, father, and Matthew hadn't even acknowledged it. They went off to some important event, but you pretended to be sick, so you could stay home with me.”

His brother released a watery chuckle. “We talked and played chess all night. It was...wonderful.”

“And there was that awful nightmare when I ruined Mother's reception for that charity event, and Matthew suggested they should send me off for templar training. I was far too old, technically, but they had favors to call in.”

Tobias grimaced. “That was beyond harsh. I fought it as hard as I could.”

Max smiled. “Yeah, I remember. And it _worked._ They listened. Considering what's happening right now, that decision probably saved my life.”

Tobias still refused to look Max in the eye, but the stiff line of his shoulders loosened a bit. “I...suppose that's a fair point.”

“And all of those things count for something! No, you weren't _always_ there for me, but you're here _now._ You're here, and you're trying. And that...” Max paused, choking back a sob. “That means the world to me.”

Toby was back at Max's side in a flash, taking his hand. “ _You_ mean the world to me.”

“See? This is what I mean.” Max shook his head, incredulous. “The way we were raised, it can't feel natural to you, always being so affectionate with me, but you do it anyway. Why?”

Tobias blinked, as if he hadn't considered it before. “It's important to you.”

Max had to fight back tears at the admission. “Would someone who wasn't worthy of forgiveness do things that make him constantly uncomfortable, solely for his little brother's sake?”

“I...hadn't looked at it that way.”

“Well, I have.” Max squeezed his hand. “I've _forgiven_ you, Toby. Why can't you forgive yourself?”

“I...” Tobias faltered. His eyes swam. “If it'll make you happy...”

“No.” Max's answer was vehement, quick. “This isn't about me. It has to be for you. _”_

“I'm...not sure I know how.”

“ _Learn_ then.” And Max wasn't even a little ashamed of how desperate it sounded. “ _Please.”_

Tobias's shoulders bowed, as if a tremendous burden lay there. “I'll...I'll try.”

“That's all I ask.” Max shifted uncomfortably – his body felt like it had been dragged across several miles of jagged rock. He grimaced.

“Are you all right?” Tobias sat bolt upright, as if a switch had been flipped. “I can grab the medic.”

Max and his pride warred for dominance in his psyche, before another surge of pain from his wounded arm promptly told pride to sod off. “Yes, please.”

“Of course. I'll be right back.” Toby gave his hand another squeeze before rushing off outside the tent. Max eased himself back down onto the cot gingerly, wincing. Within moments, both Tobias, and the medic from earlier entered the tent. The old man sat on the edge of the mattress while his brother hovered behind.

“How are you feeling, my Lord?”

“Like a giant bruise. Everything hurts.”

The old man chuckled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “That is to be expected, I think. I'll change your dressings, then you can have another potion for the pain. Sound good?”

“Sounds _great.”_

Max tried not to fidget or flinch too much as the medic went about his business, discarding dirty dressings, and replacing them with fresh ones. His eyes burned with how strong the elfroot smelled, permeating the air, but it soothed the wound on his cheek, so who was he to complain?

Once those tasks had been completed, the medic helped him sit up, handing him a potion that – quite astonishingly – tasted even worse the second time. The medic smiled and excused himself, telling them he'd be right outside if they required anything further.

Tobias hovered by the bed, uncertain. There was something odd about his face – pinched, almost. Like he was trying to mask his expression, but failing miserably.

Max rolled his eyes, holding out his hand.

“Come over here. I wasn't done with you.”

Tobias obliged, with a bit of hesitation.

Whatever was in that potion made Max drowsy – he was already sinking. He sidled closer to Toby, grasping for his hand blindly. His brother took it without a word.

“Better?” Tobias ran his fingers through his hair. His voice sounded strange – oddly thick.

“Better.” Max relaxed into the covers – Toby continued to pet his hair. He sighed, words slurred. “That feels nice...”

Tobias's laughter was genuine, if a bit strained. “Are you _drunk,_ Maxwell?”

“I think I am.” He giggled, squeezing his brother's hand. “Stay with me?”

“Always.” Toby's voice was hushed. Even in Max's current state, he was shocked to feel a kiss pressed against his temple. “I love you.”

“I know.” Max slurred, snuggling into his thigh.

Eventually, the herbs took full effect, and combined with his wounds, they both dragged Max into a blissful sleep. But before he allowed it to claim him, body exhausted and hurting...

...he could have _sworn_ he heard a sound suspiciously like weeping.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The more I write of these two, the more they touch my heart. I hope I've shared even just a little bit of that with all of you. Thanks for reading!


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